an eye on everything under the sun
by callmemom
Summary: Curses are nasty things. Percy's abysmal luck saddles him with one of the crueler ones. Apollo is willing to help but he's got his own motivations as to why.


Inhale. Exhale.

Percy lies on his bunk with the palms of his hands pressed hard against his closed eyes, hoping it'll drive the images right out the back of his skull, and knowing, at the same time, that nothing will.

It's honestly less self-delusion and more preventative action. His eyes need to stay shut. Percy can't look. He doesn't want or need to see.

All that mandatory mythology crammed into his brain, of course some of it stuck. Vague stories with a beginning, middle, and end, but lacking details and bridges between scenes. Except the stories are real and can usually be taken as a sort of life lesson and it's not the greatest idea to forget the errors of the past.

Especially not when gods, and their long memories, are involved. And they always are. They can't help themselves. Just like demigods and vanilla mortals can't help but let the warnings fade to legend and myth.

Stupid, but that's life… until an offended divine being gets huffy.

Inhale. Exhale. Percy breathes, even and calm, and pushes down a little harder until it hurts. He's alone in his cabin and it had been strongly suggested that he stay there. Whether that's for his safety or everyone else's, Percy remains uncertain. Both maybe.

 _Eyes closed_ , he reminds himself and his right foot twitches. Normally, after spending three hours on his back, the ADHD would have him a jittery mess of wall-scaling nerves.

It still kinda does, but better this than the alternative. He can do still and quiet. No biggie. (Five ex-guidance counselors would say that's a huge biggie, but they don't know anything and never did, obviously.)

Deep breath. Don't panic. Inhale. Exhale. He just needs to keep his mind busy for however long this is going to take, so he thinks—

—about monsters and curses and how the perks of being a demigod don't outweigh the pains—

—trying to turn aside a projectile of poisonous green spit heading right for Annabeth, but it isn't water and he can't control it, can only shove his best friend out of the way, glance over, and take it right in the face, faster than he can react to—

—burning, burning, burning, opening his eyes is a bad move, one he regrets instantly, but it's reflexive—

—and he sees—

He thinks about something else because this isn't helping.

He remembers blue waffles and years of blue birthday cakes and both taste like love; looking through the pantry for an after-school snack and finding a crinkly package of thin, brittle, dark green stuff that smells like the beach and happiness and home.

It's only later that he learns his new favorite treat—the package has strange symbols all over it instead of recognizable words—is dried seaweed.

He asks Sally for more the next time they go shopping for groceries, but she gets a strange look on her face and insists she'd never bought it.

They search the store, but nothing turns up. Percy shrugs away his mom's apologies—she should never be upset because of him—and tells her it's okay, he doesn't mind. No, really.

"Thanks for trying, Mom. I love you!" he says, hugging Sally tight around the waist. The sadness on her face goes away and her eyes get brighter and she hugs him back, saying, "Aw, I love you too, baby."

That had been a good day.

When he was a little kid, Percy had just figured that his mom had forgot, but she was so awesome the rest of the time it didn't really matter. Not like it's the end of world, or anything.

Now, knowing about gods and miracles and the roundabout way they prefer to do things, he thinks differently.

He ponders, calmer, the meaning of family. The word in his head is colored in shades of blue and he thinks of sweets and seaweed and peaceful days before _all of this_ when sometimes, not often, nice things would happen to him for no reason, just coincidence-that-isn't from his fisherman-shaped-father.

Something shifts the air and Percy goes tense. He hadn't heard the door open, but he still knows, with unshakeable certainty, that he isn't alone anymore.

"Who's there?" he demands, sitting up and reaching for Riptide. He tries to sound confident, in control, and not, for all intents and purposes, blind. He won't open his eyes again. He _refuses_.

"Relax, Cass," a vaguely familiar voice jokes, light and airy and _warm_. "I come in peace."

"Fred?" Percy eases back. His grip on the pen in his pocket gets less deathly, but he doesn't let go completely. It won't be much help against a god, not in this state, but still. It's comforting.

"The one and only!" Apollo crows. "Hold that thought, I feel a haiku coming on…" He clears his throat.

 _Helping demigods._

 _What would you do without me?_

 _Praise be to the sun._

"Hmm," Apollo hums and Percy turns his head in what he hopes is the right direction. "Five, seven, five, perfect! I should write that down, sis'll love it."

Percy is bemused. "You can fix me?" he blurts without thinking. A second later he adds, "Who's Cass?"

"Oi, where to start," Apollo muses. "Do you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"Oh right, got your eyes closed. That's smart, actually. Usually, people go insane before they think of that."

"They go what now?" Percy asks, alarmed. "I'm going to go crazy?!"

"Probably not," Apollo says dismissively. "Anyway, you mind if I sit on your bed? I wouldn't ask normally but Hera is on this manners kick and you wouldn't believe how seriously she's taking it."

"Uh, sure." Percy scoots over and nearly bounces right off the mattress when Apollo drops down heavily next to him.

"So, Cassandra Curse to answer your question," he starts, unprompted. "A mutated strain of it probably because there's no way the original version is still floating around. If left untreated, it can cause seizures, insanity, fatal do-good-ism, organ failure, death, etcetera. Way to go, Perce, I kinda thought it was wholly extinct."

There's a lot there that Percy considers problematic, but when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, "Curses can mutate?"

"Sure. All diseases do. Small pox, measles, the common cold, the Black Plague—all evolving over generations to be more resilient, isn't that great?"

"I wouldn't…call it great," Percy hedges.

"God of Diseases and Medicine," Apollo reminds him, almost gentle but not quite. Apollo is pretty laid back for an Olympian, but insulting one of the core ideas he embodies probably isn't a good idea by any stretch of mind.

"Neat, then."

"I am a god of many talents. Are you in awe of me?"

"I'm something, all right." Proceeding with caution would be wise, but there's only so respectful Percy can act at any given moment. He does _try_. He's just not very good at it.

It is the ocean's nature to follow no will but it's own.

Apollo laughs, genuinely amused. The temperature in Poseidon's cabin jumps several degrees. It had been comfortably cool before, and it still is, but it feels like the sun just came out from behind grey clouds to personally shine right on this spot and Percy can't help but bask in it a little. Because, really, he kinda had.

"So, like I was saying," Apollo flops back on the bed. Percy jerks minutely when the mattress rocks and almost goes for Riptide again. Not having sight is throwing him off, bad. "I'm here to help. Don't worry."

Percy takes a deep breath and forces his shoulder muscles to unwind. _Easy now_. He's going to end up offending the first person to offer him concrete assistance by accident. "I'm not worried."

Apollo hums, sounding skeptical. "If you say so."

"You said you can break the curse," Percy says, in an unsubtle maneuver to drag the conversation down a different path.

"Ah," sighs Apollo.

That can't be good.

"Break it, no. Curses are a bit like the laws of physics. Mortals come up with all kinds of interesting ways to bend them and play around within a set of boundaries but, in the end, they're called laws because they can't be broken."

Percy has to stomp on the urge to tell him that floating cities over the Empire State Building don't exactly mesh with (what little he knows) about physics. _Gods_ don't fit into it at all.

"Then what—?"

"A bit, I said." Apollo touches Percy's arm lightly and he nearly flinches. "Not exactly alike. And because I created this particular curse, I've got even more leeway with it. I can't make it go away because it was designed to last to the death of its victim, but I can make it more… manageable, if you want."

There has to be a catch.

"What's the catch?"

"Well, the treatments need to be staggered out over time so it might take a while. They're somewhat personally invasive too, but, hey, look on the positive side: as long as good old C.C. is hanging around, you won't get sick. It's a possessive germ."

"What's this treatment, exactly?" Percy asks, dreading the answer because he already knows that he'll do it, whatever it takes to make the visions stop and let him see the actual world again. He's tired of this.

"You probably won't like it, but it shouldn't hurt," Apollo warns.

"Right." Percy swallows nervously. "Okay, fine, I'll do it."

"There's a trooper." Apollo is beaming at him, Percy can feel it. "Open your mouth for me now."

"What?" Percy asks flatly. Visions of cockroaches and other gross things dance through his head. Apollo is probably above that kind of middle school humor. Probably.

"Come on. Get it over with. I'm not going to put anything but my fingers in there, so chill."

" _Fingers?_ " Pause. "Are they clean?"

"Pure as freshly fallen snow. Quit stalling. Do you want help or don't you?"

He does. He really, really does.

"Yes. Please. Thank you." Percy inhales through his nose, hopes his breath isn't too terrible, and opens his mouth.

"Now, we're in business." Apollo sounds suspiciously cheerful. Percy would say something about it, but then the bed shifts as Apollo moves and the next second, Percy feels a finger (two?) slip into his mouth, skimming over the edges of his upper front teeth.

"Alright, now close."

Percy obeys. At this point, what does he have to lose? It is definitely two fingers he's got his lips around. His tongue is uncomfortably close to them and it flattens against the bottom of mouth. This is so _weird_.

"Good. Now, make like a vacuum cleaner and suck. You're going to want to be thorough."

Percy nearly forgets himself, almost opens his eyes to glare. He remembers at the last second just what a bad idea that would be and resolves to do it later.

Maybe if he just… doesn't think about it…

Eurgh, he's getting spit all over a god's fingers. He's never going to recover from this.

Apollo's skin is inhumanly smooth. Percy doesn't think he even has fingerprints and he tastes—

Percy wishes so very badly that he doesn't know what Apollo tastes like. This can never not be incredibly weird.

He tells himself that it's just like a popsicle but it's not really. Apollo's fingers are too hot against his tongue, pressed to the roof of his mouth, and Percy—reminding himself again that Apollo told him to do it—sucks them further in. He swallows pooling saliva and it's strangely sweet. Otherwise tasteless, but good, like dissolved sugar. Addicting, even.

Oh gods. He's just going to do his level best to forget that he ever thought that. Apollo isn't a mind reader. He won't know. Percy hopes.

"You're doing great," Apollo murmurs huskily. "Just a few more minutes."

Percy hums affirmative. Apollo's fingers push back against his tongue and Percy grabs his wrist without thinking.

Apollo chuckles. "Almost there, kid."

The words seem to come from a great distance away. A spark ignites in his chest and he feels warm all over, a flare rising from his feet to the top of his head. Light builds behind his eyes.

He thinks he hears the sun god whisper, " _Beautiful_ ," soft and reverent, but that can't be right.

Percy sucks and swallows and something intangible shifts inside him. Gradually, he becomes aware of a palm against his cheek, a hand cradling his face with infinite care.

He opens his eyes and he sees—

Apollo. He's changed his face since the last time Percy's seen him, his cheeks are a tad sharper and his lips a bit fuller, but the sandy blond hair is the same, and so are his eyes. Still that sparkling summer blue but dark with an emotion Percy has no proper name for. He's staring right at him.

It's all… normal.

It snaps Percy out of his daze. His eyes are open and he's seeing what's actually there and he's so glad he can hardly stand it.

Percy smiles and Apollo retracts his fingers, brushing them over Percy's lower lip in a touch so light it's likely unintentional. Percy drops his wrist.

"Better?" Apollo asks quietly. The heat of his hand vanishes.

Percy blinks, wondering at the curious sensation of loss. "Yeah. Thanks."

"No worries, my good buddy." Apollo's grin could power the whole east coast. "See ya later."

And, that said, he vanishes back to wherever he'd sprung from.

"Well, okay, then." Percy looks around the cabin, marveling at every little thing he can see. There's so much detail on the fountain he'd never noticed. Sight really is amazing. He won't be taking it for granted again.

He gets up and heads out to share the good news.


End file.
